Some dog, huh?

Previously, in addition to books of more modest word counts, I had written two massive novels-Strangers and Dark Rivers of the Heart-which were well received, but in which it seems to me the struggle of the writer is sometimes glimpsed on the page. The first book I wrote while Trixie was with us, False Memory, turned out to be the longest book I had written to date, but tighter than the two aforementioned works. The novel is an allegory, and though in the past I had introduced humor in a suspenseful story, I approached False Memory as a comic novel and a suspense novel in equal measure. The story concerns the problem of Evil. It recognizes the truth that evil acts are out of sync with the ordered nature of the world, and therefore are irrational, absurd. The absurdity of Evil and of those who serve it is the source of our greatest defense against darkness: laughter. The antagonist of False Memory is as unconsciously amusing as he is terrifying, and often during the writing of his scenes, I laughed out loud at his pretensions and his self-delusion.

The new direction my work took with that book and all I have written since derived from four revelations:

First, I arrived at the certainty that Trixie possessed a soul as real as mine. Intelligence signifies more than an ability to relate cause to effect and to solve problems, both of which she could do. The fact that the universe exists is the most astonishing thing of all, but the second greatest astonishment is the existence of creatures, whether human beings or dogs or others, that can reason and learn, that are not driven solely by instinct. Consciously and unconsciously, the intelligent being searches for meaning and seeks its purpose. This effort cannot be pointless, because Nature inspires it in us, and Nature is never wasteful. The universe is efficient: Matter becomes energy; energy becomes matter; one form of energy is converted into another; the balance is always changing, but the universe is a closed system from which no particle of matter or wave of energy is ever lost. Nature does not waste, and if intelligent beings by their very nature seek meaning, then there must be meaning to be found. By Trixie’s intelligence, by her sense of wonder, she revealed a seeking soul-and led me to a reconsideration not only of the mystery of life but of the mystery of my own soul and destiny.

My second revelation was the recognition of the unblemished innocence of her soul compared to mine or to that of any human being. She didn’t need a new Ferrari or a week in Vegas to know joy. For her, bliss was a belly rub, a walk on a sunny day-or in the rain, for that matter-an extra cookie when it wasn’t expected, a cuddle, a kind word. She lived to love and to receive love, which is the condition of angels.

Third, I understood that the joy arising from innocence, from harmony with nature and natural law, must be the most exhilarating feeling either dog or human could hope to experience. Dogs’ joy is directly related to the fact that they do not deceive, do not betray, and do not covet. Innocence is neither naive nor unhip; innocence is the condition of deepest bliss.

Fourth, I came to realize that the flight from innocence so characteristic of our time is a leap into absurdity and insanity.

If Gerda and I had decided to delay accepting a dog from CCI and later received another golden, instead of Trixie, or if we’d decided not ever to have a dog, I wonder who I would be, these eleven years later. Whatever Dean Koontz I would be, I would not be the Dean Koontz I am now. Considering the potentially momentous nature of even the smallest decisions we make, we ought to be terrified and humbled, we ought to be filled with gratitude for every grace we receive.

XVI time and memory

EACH TIME I write about dogs in a novel or a work of nonfiction, I receive a few letters accusing me of anthropomorphizing them, of ascribing human attributes to mere animals.

Some of my correspondents have an aversion to dogs, and they are annoyed to see one portrayed with what they deem is excess affection.

Others write from a moral high ground, which they claim in the name of their religion. They are certain to a fault that God’s grace extends only to human beings, that other living things on this Earth are pretty much like the low-paid extras that fill out crowd scenes in movies. I suppose they must interpret the biblical admonition that God knows of every sparrow’s death to mean not that He cares for all of His creatures in this fallen world, but instead that He has a worldwide surveillance system so awesome that even Homeland Security could not replicate it.

A few correspondents reject the concept of human exceptionalism and believe that any animal is superior to any person. If I ascribe human qualities and characteristics to a dog, these folks feel that I am demeaning canines.

Finally, an animal psychologist or a zoologist, or a naturalist of another kind, will assure me that the human qualities and emotions I see in dogs are not what they appear to be, that the mind of any animal is radically different from ours. Depending on their area of expertise, they will assert all manner of astonishing things: that a dog has no sense of its individuality, no true self-awareness, as we do; that a dog’s mind is insufficiently complex to engender emotions; that a dog cannot reason from a cause to an effect.

Nonsense.

All of us, scientists and nonscientists alike, find it difficult almost to the point of impossibility to see the world through another human being’s mind, which is why we’re continually surprised by what even our friends and neighbors are capable of doing. The serial killer next door is routinely described as a quiet, nice, ordinary guy by those who imagined that they knew him.

What a leap it then is to insist that we can know absolutely how the mind of another species works. The great advantages of a mutual language and a shared culture fail us daily in our efforts to understand our own kind. With dogs, the experts have only theory. Evidently, the prospect that the world at its deepest level rests on a mystery we cannot solve this side of death is so terrifying to some that our wondrous dogs must be regarded as nothing more than meat machines lest their true and astonishing nature should cause us to consider how magical is our very existence

One caveat: When discussing the possible thoughts, reasoning, and intentions of a dog, we must remember that overall intelligence varies from breed to breed. Levels of intelligence also vary from individual to individual within the same breed, just as it varies from one human being to another. Trixie was a very smart golden.

I HAVE OFTEN read and been told that dogs have no sense of time. I don’t believe this, but what I do believe is that the people who say it have no sense, period.

Believing dogs have no sense of the passage of time, you should not be concerned if you leave old Spot alone for one hour or four hours when you go out for an evening. In either case, his perception supposedly will be that you have been gone awhile, for a period he can’t measure, perhaps for a minute or perhaps for a day.

Trixie possessed such a precise and reliable sense of time that we would not have needed clocks or watches to keep her on her daily schedule. After a breakfast of kibble, she received an apple-cinnamon rice cake at eleven thirty, just before her midday walk, and then a dish of kibble at three-thirty, prior to her afternoon walk. Gerda, Linda, Elaine, and I daily experienced Trixie’s uncanny promptitude. Never later than the appointed time, but never more than a minute or two earlier, she came to whoever had custody of her; with the tap of a raised paw or with a bump of her nose, or by placing her head in your lap and rolling her eyes, she announced that in case you hadn’t noticed, the hour had come for food, exercise, and toileting. Year after year, she announced these daily routines with accuracy.